Digest for rec.sport.football.college@googlegroups.com - 25 updates in 16 topics

Thursday, July 13, 2017

JGibson <james.m.gibson@gmail.com>: Jul 13 08:08AM -0700

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRcRn_Xv7Ek
 
That's all.
darkstar7646@gmail.com: Jul 13 08:08AM -0700

The only reason I'm not doing 5-15 in the Federal pen is because offing Trump gives us a Dominionist.
 
As bad as Trump is, Mike Pence is his perfect insurance policy.
 
Mike
Mercellus Bohren <mercellusb@yahoo.com>: Jul 13 07:58AM -0700

Four short stories making one long read. Enjoy.
 
[1] I grew up in a canyon next to a lake about 15 miles east of Lubbock, TX. The neighbor kids with all the cool toys created a dirt track around the backside of the lake, in the canyon, where there were no houses. I got a used 250 Suzuki dirt bike. We all had a great time doing jumps and completing Enduro races with each other. One of the neighbor kids was highly mechanical. His garage became the place where all our bikes got fixed after we blew something out. One day I went by after school to see if he wanted to go ride and he was working on the brakes on another neighbor's bike. He said he was done and that I could go test it out on the street in front of his house.
 
His house was on the top of the canyon where the streets were all level and where you could see cotton fields stretching out in most directions. My house was at the bottom of the canyon near the lake. The elevation at the street level at the top was about 400-500 feet above the bottom where it leveled off near the lake. There was one street that wound down the canyon wall to the lake. I took off on the bike and was moving at a pretty good clip, downshifting as I came to stop signs near his house and then took off down the street that went downhill from the top.
 
Not sure why, but I decided to see how fast his bike could go and was likely doing maybe 60 mph (seemed like 100 mph). When the street leveled off at the bottom of the canyon it ended at a T intersection, you either made a hard right or left. I tapped the brakes, nothing there. Hit them harder, nada. I was now about to get to the T and had to make a decision. If I laid the bike down in the street, I'm not sure how far I would bounce (in my shorts, flip-flops, t-shirt, no helmet). This thought was soon replaced with the sight of the double curb looming at the back of the T. I had time to downshift once before I hit that double curb head-on. I decided to jump straight up off the bike right before the front tire hit the curb.
 
Beyond the double curb was a ravine and creek that fed the lake. The ravine sloped down quickly about 40 feet to the creek bed. I jumped and went airborne as the bike hit the double curb. I tumbled down the embankment and the bike went crashing just to the side of where I landed and into the creek.
 
Needless to say, I was making payments to the neighbor kid for a while so he could get it fixed. I had some pretty good bumps and bruises and branch scratches, but was otherwise okay. My parents never heard about it. Thank you Saint of stupid people.
 
[2] Fast forward about 40 years and I'm riding my beach cruiser single-speed bicycle around the neighborhood in Houston. All flat. It was pretty boring, but it was good exercise and riding a bike always brings back that feeling when I was a kid and was allowed to go off on my own riding around with no parents. Freedom.
 
I had made it about eight miles or so around my circuit, when I passed a house with a little dog in the front yard. He came running up beside me barking and snarling a little, I looked down at him and snarled back, slowing down slightly, he ran to my front tire and proceeded to wedge himself between the tire and the pavement, thereby abruptly stopping foward progress, sending me airborne over the handles bouncing down the pavement. I layed there for a bit, the wind knocked out of me, thinking about how stupid I looked. A few people were in their front yards and a couple ran out and asked if I was okay. I managed to eek out a 'yeah'. About 5 minutes lying in the road, cars slowly rolling by, I got up, looked at all my road rash injuries, rubbed my hurt shoulder, my busted elbow, and saw that my bicycle handlebars that were twisted around backward.
 
I got the bike up and untwisted the handlebars as best I could and limped home a broken man. Before I rode off, I asked about the little dog. The owner told me he was okay. I seem to be okay these days. My shoulder still hurts when I sleep on my side.
 
[3] Rewind about 40 years and I'm back to 14 years old, no driver's license. My grandfather lived with us and had an old pickup truck that I would take out on joy rides with my friends after sneaking out with the keys in the middle of the night. We'd put it in neutral and push it down the street before firing it up. We did this maybe 3 or 4 times before the incident that became a watershed event in my family (i.e. "Was that before or after Mercellus wrecked the truck?")
 
It was a week or two before Christmas. Me and all my friends were on break. It was a Friday night. My folks were out of town in Dallas attending a Cowboys playoff game set for Saturday night, and wouldn't be back until Sunday night. One sister no longer lived at home (in college) and the other was out for the night, so it was just me and my grandad.
 
There were about eight of us guys; all around 14-15 old.
 
A friend's older brother bought a bunch of Schlitz Baby Bulls for a party he was having. We gave him some money and loaded up a cooler. After drinking a few (this was maybe the third time I had had any alcohol and nothing like this much) we determined that the best plan would be to take my grandad's truck, load up the cooler, get a bunch of water balloons, and go throw them at the high school Christmas carolers we knew would be in a certain Lubbock neighborhood that night.
 
We all piled in my grandad's truck. There was one guy riding shotgun in the cab with me. The rest of the guys were all piled in the back, jumping up and down as we cruised down the street, past the Sonic, through the mall parking lot, just having a great time. We kept drinking.
 
We got to the neighborhood and drove around until we saw the high school kids gathered at a door singing. I drove up near the crub in front of the house and stopped. The guys were all yelling and throwing water balloons. It was a raging success; right up until the high school guys in the group ran up the truck and started attempting to drag and/or beat the guys in the back.
 
I took off, turned around, and kept looking back yelling at everyone to SIT DOWN! No one did. As I got up to about 40-45mph I turned around just at the moment we slammed into the back a huge parked dump truck.
 
I'm not sure how long I was out cold. Not long.
 
I remember looking at the passenger. He was halfway through the front windshield. I knew he was dead.
 
The front of the truck was crushed. I climbed out the open window.
 
I looked in the back. No one was moving. I knew they were likely dead.
 
I began running away. I don't know why or how, but I was fine.
 
I got about 1 or 2 miles away, stopped, and started walking/jogging back, knowing that I had to face whatever was going to happen. When I got there, several police cars and a crowd where now surrounding the totally demolished truck.
 
One officer kept yelling over and over "WHO WAS DRIVING THIS TRUCK!!!"
 
I walked over and said, "me."
 
I was immediately placed in the back of the nearest police cruiser.
 
Eventually, my sister showed up and was allowed to take me home. I had about 5 or 6 tickets with me. They never did a breathalyzer test. I'm not sure why they never called my parents that night, but they didn't. They knew where I lived.
 
I had two nights to consider what I had done. I pleaded with my sister and grandad not to call my folks. If I recall correctly, they waited until late the next evening, after the football game. My parents ended up coming home a little earlier on Sunday.
 
Long story, longer: Most importantly and amazingly, no one died. All the kids in the back of the truck went to the hospital and were discharged. Bumps, bruises, probably mild concussions. The kid next to me, Terry S. (I'll never forget his name. I don't remember any of the others.) survived, but had a permanently disfigured face. He turned out all right though. College graduate and successful. I saw him at a bar once, when we were both in college, and he looked fine to me. Wouldn't talk to me. We never became friends. I tried to apologize. One of his friends later told me, the only thing they noticed is that when he was really drunk, one of his eyes would stay open when he slept.
 
[4] Fast forward 4 years. Driving a truck again! I had an old Ford F150. After school, two of my buddies climbed in (unaware of my bleak history in trucks). It had rained all day but had cleared up. We were tearing around on the muddy dirt roads around the cotton fields outside Lubbock. I was doing pretty well sliding and drifting around corners. We came around one corner and the truck was sliding almost sideways and hit the elevated part of the muddy road where train tracks crossed. We started flipping over and over. We need up upside down in the bar ditch. No one hurt but we all had tobacco spit all over us as our snuff spit cans had all gone upside down. We climbed up and out of the driver's side door. The truck seemed okay. We pulled it back over, got in, and drove it to one of our friend's house who by then was a true mechanic. He looked it over, put some oil back in, and I drove everyone and myself home. No harm. No foul. Except, the back wheel was bent so that would shimmy and shake if I got over about 50. There was a dent in the side and on the hood of the cab. I had to tell my dad I had a wreck but I said we just slid into the bar ditch. He said he wasn't paying to get it fixed. So, I just drove it like that until I was able to buy another car. My dad always asked, "If it just slid into the ditch, why is there a dent on the top of the cab?" I never confessed. He knew.
 
Epilogue:
 
My dad died at 59 of a heart attack when I was 28.
I never got a chance to say I was sorry.
Tell your mom and dad you're sorry, you losers.
I know you did shit this bad or worse.
 
TIA.
Mercellus Bohren <mercellusb@yahoo.com>: Jul 13 07:55AM -0700

Four short stories making one long read. Enjoy.
 
[1] I grew up in a canyon next to a lake about 15 miles of Lubbock, TX. The neighbor kids with all the cool toys created a dirt track around the backside of the lake, in the canyon, where there were no houses. I got a used 250 Suzuki dirt bike. We all had a great time doing jumps and completing Enduro races with each other. One of the neighbor kids was highly mechanical. His garage became the place where all our bikes got fixed after we blew something out. One day I went by after school to see if he wanted to go ride and he was working on the brakes on another neighbor's bike. He said he was done and that I could go test it out on the street in front of his house.
 
His house was on the top of the canyon where the streets were all level and where you could see cotton fields stretching out in most directions. My house was at the bottom of the canyon near the lake. The elevation at the street level at the top was about 400-500 feet above the bottom where it leveled off near the lake. There was one street that wound down the canyon wall to the lake. I took off on the bike and was moving at a pretty good clip, downshifting as I came to stop signs near his house and then took off down the street that went downhill from the top.
 
Not sure why, but I decided to see how fast his bike could go and was likely doing maybe 60 mph (seemed like 100 mph). When the street leveled off at the bottom of the canyon it ended at a T intersection, you either made a hard right or left. I tapped the brakes, nothing there. Hit them harder, nada. I was now about to get to the T and had to make a decision. If I laid the bike down in the street, I'm not sure how far I would bounce (in my shorts, flip-flops, t-shirt, no helmet). This thought was soon replaced with the sight of the double curb looming at the back of the T. I had time to downshift once before I hit that double curb head-on. I decided to jump straight up off the bike right before the front tire hit the curb.
 
Beyond the double curb was a ravine and creek that fed the lake. The ravine sloped down quickly about 40 feet to the creek bed. I jumped and went airborne as the bike hit the double curb. I tumbled down the embankment and the bike went crashing just to the side of where I landed and into the creek.
 
Needless to say, I was making payments to the neighbor kid for a while so he could get it fixed. I had some pretty good bumps and bruises and branch scratches, but was otherwise okay. My parents never heard about it. Thank you Saint of stupid people.
 
[2] Fast forward about 40 years and I'm riding my beach cruiser single-speed bicycle around the neighborhood in Houston. All flat. It was pretty boring, but it was good exercise and riding a bike always brings back that feeling when I was a kid and was allowed to go off on my own riding around with no parents. Freedom.
 
I had made it about eight miles or so around my circuit, when I passed a house with a little dog in the front yard. He came running up beside me barking and snarling a little, I looked down at him and snarled back, slowing down slightly, he ran to my front tire and proceeded to wedge himself between the tire and the pavement, thereby abruptly stopping foward progress, sending me airborne over the handles bouncing down the pavement. I layed there for a bit, the wind knocked out of me, thinking about how stupid I looked. A few people were in their front yards and a couple ran out and asked if I was okay. I managed to eek out a 'yeah'. About 5 minutes lying in the road, cars slowly rolling by, I got up, looked at all my road rash injuries, rubbed my hurt shoulder, my busted elbow, and saw that my bicycle handlebars that were twisted around backward.
 
I got the bike up and untwisted the handlebars as best I could and limped home a broken man. Before I rode off, I asked about the little dog. The owner told me he was okay. I seem to be okay these days. My shoulder still hurts when I sleep on my side.
 
[3] Rewind about 40 years and I'm back to 14 years old, no driver's license. My grandfather lived with us and had an old pickup truck that I would take out on joy rides with my friends after sneaking out with the keys in the middle of the night. We'd put it in neutral and push it down the street before firing it up. We did this maybe 3 or 4 times before the incident that became a watershed event in my family (i.e. "Was that before or after Mercellus wrecked the truck?")
 
It was a week or two before Christmas. Me and all my friends were on break. It was a Friday night. My folks were out of town in Dallas attending a Cowboys playoff game set for Saturday night, and wouldn't be back until Sunday night. One sister no longer lived at home (in college) and the other was out for the night, so it was just me and my grandad.
 
There were about eight of us guys; all around 14-15 old.
 
A friend's older brother bought a bunch of Schlitz Baby Bulls for a party he was having. We gave him some money and loaded up a cooler. After drinking a few (this was maybe the third time I had had any alcohol and nothing like this much) we determined that the best plan would be to take my grandad's truck, load up the cooler, get a bunch of water balloons, and go throw them at the high school Christmas carolers we knew would be in a certain Lubbock neighborhood that night.
 
We all piled in my grandad's truck. There was one guy riding shotgun in the cab with me. The rest of the guys were all piled in the back, jumping up and down as we cruised down the street, past the Sonic, through the mall parking lot, just having a great time. We kept drinking.
 
We got to the neighborhood and drove around until we saw the high school kids gathered at a door singing. I drove up near the crub in front of the house and stopped. The guys were all yelling and throwing water balloons. It was a raging success; right up until the high school guys in the group ran up the truck and started attempting to drag and/or beat the guys in the back.
 
I took off, turned around, and kept looking back yelling at everyone to SIT DOWN! No one did. As I got up to about 40-45mph I turned around just at the moment we slammed into the back a huge parked dump truck.
 
I'm not sure how long I was out cold. Not long.
 
I remember looking at the passenger. He was halfway through the front windshield. I knew he was dead.
 
The front of the truck was crushed. I climbed out the open window.
 
I looked in the back. No one was moving. I knew they were likely dead.
 
I began running away. I don't know why or how, but I was fine.
 
I got about 1 or 2 miles away, stopped, and started walking/jogging back, knowing that I had to face whatever was going to happen. When I got there, several police cars and a crowd where now surrounding the totally demolished truck.
 
One officer kept yelling over and over "WHO WAS DRIVING THIS TRUCK!!!"
 
I walked over and said, "me."
 
I was immediately placed in the back of the nearest police cruiser.
 
Eventually, my sister showed up and was allowed to take me home. I had about 5 or 6 tickets with me. They never did a breathalyzer test. I'm not sure why they never called my parents that night, but they didn't. They knew where I lived.
 
I had two nights to consider what I had done. I pleaded with my sister and grandad not to call my folks. If I recall correctly, they waited until late the next evening, after the football game. My parents ended up coming home a little earlier on Sunday.
 
Long story, longer: Most importantly and amazingly, no one died. All the kids in the back of the truck went to the hospital and were discharged. Bumps, bruises, probably mild concussions. The kid next to me, Terry S. (I'll never forget his name. I don't remember any of the others.) survived, but had a permanently disfigured face. He turned out all right though. College graduate and successful. I saw him at a bar once, when we were both in college, and he looked fine to me. Wouldn't talk to me. We never became friends. I tried to apologize. One of his friends later told me, the only thing they noticed is that when he was really drunk, one of his eyes would stay open when he slept.
 
[4] Fast forward 4 years. Driving a truck again! I had an old Ford F150. After school, two of my buddies climbed in (unaware of my bleak history in trucks). It had rained all day but had cleared up. We were tearing around on the muddy dirt roads around the cotton fields outside Lubbock. I was doing pretty well sliding and drifting around corners. We came around one corner and the truck was sliding almost sideways and hit the elevated part of the muddy road where train tracks crossed. We started flipping over and over. We need up upside down in the bar ditch. No one hurt but we all had tobacco spit all over us as our snuff spit cans had all gone upside down. We climbed up and out of the driver's side door. The truck seemed okay. We pulled it back over, got in, and drove it to one of our friend's house who by then was a true mechanic. He looked it over, put some oil back in, and I drove everyone and myself home. No harm. No foul. Except, the back wheel was bent so that would shimmy and shake if I got over about 50. There was a dent in the side and on the hood of the cab. I had to tell my dad I had a wreck but I said we just slid into the bar ditch. He said he wasn't paying to get it fixed. So, I just drove it like that until I was able to buy another car. My dad always asked, "If it just slid into the ditch, why is there a dent on the top of the cab?" I never confessed. He knew.
 
Epilogue:
 
My dad died at 59 of a heart attack when I was 28.
I never got a chance to say I was sorry.
Tell your mom and dad you're sorry, you losers.
I know you did shit this bad or worse.
 
TIA.
xyzzy <xyzzy.dude@gmail.com>: Jul 13 06:50AM -0700

> PS You could always donate them.
 
I did and it burned me because I donated a trip rather than a set number of miles. Between the time the trip was purchased at a silent auction event and the purchaser came to me to redeem it, AA had devalued the miles so it took twice as many as I budgeted for to redeem the prize.
"the_andrew_smith@yahoo.com" <agavinsmith@gmail.com>: Jul 13 07:18AM -0700

LOL
xyzzy <xyzzy.dude@gmail.com>: Jul 13 07:36AM -0700

> LOL
 
No good deed goes unpunished!
xyzzy <xyzzy.dude@gmail.com>: Jul 13 12:10AM -0700

At least he recognizes that the Iraq war was a loss. That's progress for a conservative.
Eagle@bellsouth.net (J. Hugh Sullivan): Jul 13 12:50PM

On Wed, 12 Jul 2017 22:37:16 -0400, RoddyMcCorley
>> This email has been checked for viruses by AVG.
>> http://www.avg.com
 
>FAKE NEWS! We crushed Grenada!
 
Please consider my mea culpaed.
 
I et tu many, Brute.
 
Hugh
Eagle@bellsouth.net (J. Hugh Sullivan): Jul 13 01:06PM

On Thu, 13 Jul 2017 00:10:46 -0700 (PDT), xyzzy <xyzzy.dude@gmail.com>
wrote:
 
>At least he recognizes that the Iraq war was a loss. That's progress for a conservative.
 
Honesty should be a common goal. Bias gets in the way.
 
As I view it rsfc is really nothing more than a competitive game of
bias.
 
Libs think Coke is better if it is called Pepsi and the government has
the only contract. But I suppose that is honesty on their part (to
give the devil credit).
 
Hugh
 
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"Con Reeder, unhyphenated American" <constance@duxmail.com>: Jul 13 08:50AM -0500

> At least he recognizes that the Iraq war was a loss. That's progress
> for a conservative.
 
Here, I'll give you your illusions back -- it was a win until Obama took over.
 
--
Experience is what allows you to recognize a mistake the
second time you make it. -- unknown
xyzzy <xyzzy.dude@gmail.com>: Jul 13 06:48AM -0700

> http://nypost.com/2017/07/11/nevada-mulling-state-of-emergency-over-pot-shortage/
 
> It's not the pot, it's the states reaction to it.
 
The puns are what really make that article.
"the_andrew_smith@yahoo.com" <agavinsmith@gmail.com>: Jul 13 06:50AM -0700

The picture was creepy.
"the_andrew_smith@yahoo.com" <agavinsmith@gmail.com>: Jul 13 05:29AM -0700

http://www.nationalreview.com/article/449416/david-shulkin-department-veterans-affairs-reforms
 
Sounds positive.
"wolfie" <bgbdwolf@gte.net>: Jul 13 08:57AM -0400

"the_andrew_smith@yahoo.com" wrote
 
> http://www.nationalreview.com/article/449416/david-shulkin-department-veterans-affairs-reforms
 
> Sounds positive.
 
It's hard to argue with the fact Trump's best pick was
someone kept on from the Obama administration.
xyzzy <xyzzy.dude@gmail.com>: Jul 13 06:47AM -0700

On Thursday, July 13, 2017 at 8:57:12 AM UTC-4, wolfie wrote:
 
> > Sounds positive.
 
> It's hard to argue with the fact Trump's best pick was
> someone kept on from the Obama administration.
 
Yes, I head him interviewed on NPR, he seems like a slam dunk.
Eagle@bellsouth.net (J. Hugh Sullivan): Jul 13 01:12PM

On Wed, 12 Jul 2017 20:17:40 -0700 (PDT), Some dued
 
>That's actually the most defensible summary of Obama a wing nut has uttered in RSFC.
 
Cons don't usually faux comment. It's making sure the windstom has
some acorns for the pigs.
 
Hugh
 
 
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unclejr <watsona64@gmail.com>: Jul 13 05:31AM -0700

> https://youtu.be/q9ZSII3qADI
 
> Irish Mike
 
I don't care what you say, I'm not clicking on that link.
irishranger317@gmail.com: Jul 13 05:54AM -0700

On Thursday, July 13, 2017 at 8:31:02 AM UTC-4, unclejr wrote:
> > https://youtu.be/q9ZSII3qADI
 
> > Irish Mike
 
> I don't care what you say, I'm not clicking on that link.
 
A wise choice. You wouldn't understand most of it and the little you did
understand would just upset your political narrative.
 
Irish Mike
Eagle@bellsouth.net (J. Hugh Sullivan): Jul 13 12:46PM

>>>>Isn't that a good thing?
 
>> Or, pointing out your lie about poor and irresponsible having to pay.
 
>We're talking about the subsidy for Obamacare, not medicare.
 
The UnACA will implode without help from the GoP. The threat to void
the act will just hasten the end. The UnACA and Medicaid are just a
more costly way to take care of the handicapped (physical and talent)
and the worthless.
 
Government intervention in healthcare only means you have to be the
patient of an incompetent at times 'cause government regards him the
same as competents. Competent robots eliminating the need for humans
is a better option. Hail to Watson.
 
Some of us earn the right to be privileged - but at varying degrees. I
would have willingly stood in line behind Audie Murphy and Bill Gates
- but not Obama or Sanders.
 
Hugh
 
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"the_andrew_smith@yahoo.com" <agavinsmith@gmail.com>: Jul 13 05:44AM -0700

http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/house-dust-increasing-body-fat-study-article-1.3321376
 
WE'RE GONNA CLEAN THE HOUSE THEN EAT ICE CREAM!!!
"the_andrew_smith@yahoo.com" <agavinsmith@gmail.com>: Jul 13 05:26AM -0700

https://endpts.com/fda-advisers-back-novartis-game-changing-personalized-car-t-for-cancer-approval-in-sight/
 
Also, there was some recent outstanding success in an early phase study of an immune treatment against melanoma.
Michael Press <rubrum@pacbell.net>: Jul 12 11:42PM -0700

In article <d0a40c51-a9a2-4af3-bc52-5c82a216780c@googlegroups.com>,
 
> http://www.espn.com/college-football/story/_/id/19974953/houston-nutt-former-ole-miss-rebels-coach-files-civil-lawsuit-school
 
Is this one going to fizzle also?
These sports lawsuits start off with
big claims then disappear.
 
--
Michael Press
Michael Press <rubrum@pacbell.net>: Jul 12 11:39PM -0700

In article <830c5bc1-f363-403c-b00d-83b00b84f01e@googlegroups.com>,
 
> I only ever disliked him because he seems douchey, you seem to think he's a convenient straw man for all your overblown opinions.
 
This all makes you very angry and you dislike him. That is a
counter-intuitive response. When he acts like a douche the
natural response is laughter. When he gets all inflated with
self-importance and is punctured it is laughable.
 
In article <eaf62544-6d00-4d40-9634-9f8cf65c5743@googlegroups.com>,
Some dued <theodoreward@gmail.com> wrote:
> You seem to be angry at Shy LeDouche, why?
 
In article <rubrum-F53B71.14593812072017@news.albasani.net>,
Michael Press <rubrum@pacbell.net> wrote:
 
 
>> Citation, other than Scott Adams's ridiculous blog?
 
> Professional humorist, successful. Good enough for me.
> One might ask why all this makes you angry.
 
I'm laughing and laughing and laughing. Takes himself
utterly seriously and tries to be one of the big boys
and gets crushed
 
AND
 
gets arrested for assault and for drunk in public
 
AND
 
rages at the arresting officer like a four year old
and with no imagination in his curse fest.
 
What hoot! and you are not laughing.
 
--
Michael Press
Ken Olson <kolson@freedomnet.org>: Jul 13 12:26AM -0400

On 7/12/2017 11:49 PM, Some dued wrote:
> I sold it about 6 years ago, I liked it but every 5k miles the shaft seal would start leaking oil and I didn't want to tear it down again. I probably should have just figured out the root cause and kept it.
 
I still have my Kawasaki, but it needs some bucks and TLC to ride again.
I keep thinking about working on it, but life triage keeps putting
other stuff ahead of it.
 
Your Guzzi was just being Italian and getting oily! ;) Saying that, if
I could buy another bike right now it might well be a Monster 900.
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